


The Monk and The Warrior

by Rebel_Atar



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: AU the Empire Wins, Fairy Tale Elements, Legends, M/M, Origin Story, Slavery mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 02:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15378762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebel_Atar/pseuds/Rebel_Atar
Summary: After the victory of the Empire stories of insurgency and rebellion are often told. Every world has its own tales. On Jedha they focus around two main figures. The Monk and The Warrior. There is much debate as to whether these men ever truly existed. Regardless of that, this is the story told of how they met.





	The Monk and The Warrior

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away there was a monk.

This was strange, for on the moon of Jedha there had not been any monks for a very long time.

Their temples had fallen. The powerful Empire laying them to waste in search of precious Kyber crystals. All who had defended the temples, all who stood in the Empire's way, had fallen with them.

Yet one still remained.

 

Chirrut Imwe had stood against the empire and lived. He had defended the NiJedha temple to the last but exhausted and blinded by Empire Stormtroopers he was seen as no further threat.

First they had tried to bind him. In the hope that he would have knowledge of hidden caches of Kyber, deep below the surface of the moon, but Chirrut was a trickster.

He slipped their bonds and bars as though they were nothing but desert winds and left a trail of dead Stormtroopers in his wake.

Still the Empire tried to cage him, and still he could not be caged.

Eventually the Empire gave up Chirrut, but he did not give up on them. If there was Chaos he could sew or Kyber he could steal then he would do it.

Often he let himself be captured, only to take great joy in slipping out from beneath Empire watch, his bags bulging with crystals.

 

  
The Empire were not the only threat on Jedha. The desert held dangerous creatures, shifting sands, and clans of bandits.

But the desert was Chirrut's home. He had known it longer than his name and the sands held no fear for him. Even it's most dangerous denizens gave him a wide berth.

Except for the bandits.

  
Chirrut took capture by them as much in his stride as capture by the Empire. Though instead of leaving them bleeding into the sand he tried to remind them of the time before the Empire. Of the Force and the Whills and of their faith in something greater.

  
Most mocked him, tried to rob him, and sent him on his way when they realised he was too much trouble.

Perhaps they would take less interest in him if he did not carry with him more Kyber than was strictly sensible.

 

  
It was during one of these captures that the Monk first met the Warrior.

 

  
He was also a captive of the bandits. Yet where Chirrut was bound with metal cuffs and chafing ropes. The Warrior was bound with a slave collar and a muzzle. Chirrut, of course, did not know this as although the force had granted him many things, the return of his sight was not one of them.

His name was Malbus, or at least that is what the bandits screamed at him when he was ordered to pull their pallets of supplies and looted goods as though he was some pack animal.

He did not move fast enough and electricity crackled along the collar, bringing the warrior to his knees. The sound was unmistakeable.

  
It was at that moment that the Monk changed his plans.

He could not leave this Malbus to his fate. Regardless of his past no one could deserve such treatment. No one outside of the Empire at least.

Chirrut must rescue this man.

 

  
And so he set about doing so.

First he slipped his cuffs. This would easily allow him to slip his ropes, but he waited. Until the bandits stopped to make camp. Until he had been messily fed thick, greasy stew. Until the sounds of the group died down to the gritty shifting of sand beneath the boots of the one left on watch, while the rest of the company slept.

  
The coarse rope fell to the ground in muffled coils, and Chirrut rose in a whisper of robes in the dark.

  
He followed the clinking shift of chain against leather and sand until he found the Warrior.

 

The Monk reached out one hand and felt as much as heard this Malbus flinch away from him.

"Peace, friend." Whispered the Monk. "I am here to help. I wish only to free you."

Silence greeted him but no further movement was made so he presumed his touch was not unwelcome. Chirrut reached out with open palms and brushed against a strong, broad chest. He followed the lines of muscle up to where the collar was fastened around the Warrior's neck. He could feel where it bit into his flesh, too small by far, and felt anger stir in is gut.

A focusing breath rid him of it. Chirrut would not allow himself to become distracted, but he prayed that the force would guide his anger to help free this man.

His fingers found the lock. Unfortunately electronic, not as easy to slip as his cuffs. The hinge though. At the back was a simple hinge and Chirrut was sure he would be able to break it with a little force and the proper leverage.

It was as he was feeling the hinge that something brushed his hand. He felt up. Short, small linked chain leading to a clasp.

"Hmm." Spoked Chirrut. "But what is this."

His hands followed leather straps that connected to the clasp, until they reached cold, heavy metal bands. A cage. It spanned across the face of this Malbus and inside he felt rods reach towards the Warriors lips.

"As though you were a diseased loth cat." Chirrut whispered. Horror and sadness dripping from his words.

This he would not stand. Anger surged hot in him again. With quick, efficient movements he broke the hinge. Collar falling to the sand with a quiet thud.

The muzzle took longer. He had to feel how it was made, what connected to where but after long moments he managed to break the straps and slowly ease the bars from the warriors mouth. As he did so the metallic scent of blood bloomed in the air.

"There." Said Chirrut, his voice thick. "That must feel better yes?"

His question was met with silence but there was a shift in air and breathing when Malbus ran his hands over his newly free face.

"Let us leave this place." Chirrut stood. "I will retrieve my belongings, and you yours, and then we shall put this place behind us."

He heard the Warrior stand beside him and the man placed a hand on Chirrut's arm as he gently steered him towards the supply tent.

 

It did not take long to stock up. The bandits may miss their food and water, their medical kits, but Chirrut could not find it in himself to feel guilt for taking them. After what they had done to another sentient it was less than they deserved.

They left the tent in silence, the Monk especially glad to have his staff across his back once more.

Despite their silence the watchman was good at his job, and they were soon spotted before they could flee. He called the rest of the camp to arms and Chirrut found his back pressed to the Warrior's, his staff in hand.

As always the Monk's enemies fell before him. For he was one with the force.  
From the sounds of rending flesh and snapping bones, the force was also with the Warrior.

Their enemies defeated, the two fled into the night.

 

  
They set themselves up on a sandstone ridge, high above the dunes with a cave stretching behind them.

Fully settled Chirrut busied himself laying out soothing ointments and soaps and other things with which to help the Warrior feel more of a person once more. Malbus built a fire for them, and tended it with care until Chirrut coaxed him out into the dying night to tend to him.

The Monk carefully cleaned the welts left by the collar. Soothed them with ointment and wrapped them carefully in soft bandages. He ran his hands over long, thick hair. Knotted and matted from neglect for who knew how long.

Cautiously he cut it. Teased the mats out and washed it with sweet scented water. He coaxed Malbus to wash himself too and afterwards he gently anointed him with oils. Blessings and prayers spilled from the Monk's lips as he cared for this man.

 

"Is that not better now, my friend?" Chirrut said with a smile.

"Baze." The voice was deep. Rough and cracking from lack of use.

"I'm sorry?"

"My name." Rumbled the Warrior.

Chirrut grinned at him, all trickster and Kyber sharp.

"Then is that not better, Baze?" He said.

Baze nodded and thanked him.

 

  
As sunrise spilled across the Jedhan sands, the Warrior wept for the first kindness he had felt since the temples fell. The Monk held him.


End file.
